


my name is Montresor, and wen its nite...

by schizoauthoress



Category: The Cask of Amontillado - Edgar Allan Poe
Genre: Poetry, Remix, in the style of 'my name is Cow'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:33:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schizoauthoress/pseuds/schizoauthoress
Summary: Just what the tags say... a retelling of "The Cask of Amontillado" in the style of the "my name is Cow" poem (meme).





	my name is Montresor, and wen its nite...

I, Montresor,  
A victim be  
Fortunato  
Has slighted me

His thousand wounds  
Unto my pride  
I cannot bear  
To further hide 

I craft my plan  
With careful thought  
Such suffering  
His spite has bought

Invitation:  
'Come, friend, and see  
I now possess   
A rare sherry'

A festive drunk  
His wits are dull  
Weak suspicions  
Easy to lull

Wine I offer  
To keep his cheer  
See catacombs?  
Cask kept in here

Warning of damp  
I lead the way  
Despite his cough  
He won't be swayed

The secret sign  
Unrecognized  
Not a mason,  
He does surmise

'Indeed I am,'  
I then reply;  
Show my trowel  
'You jest,' he cries

The chosen place  
'We have arrived  
Mind not the dark,  
It is inside...'

Into the niche  
He, trusting, goes  
I lock him quick  
For soon comes woe

I set to work  
I lay the brick  
Mortar layers  
Are spread on thick

At the end now  
He finally   
Shows his true face  
Screams rage at me

I mock his shouts  
We are too deep  
His final fate  
This tomb will keep

The chain he shakes  
It does not yield   
He disbelieves  
His fate is sealed 

'Another joke?  
Oh Montresor   
How we'll all laugh  
When home once more!'

'We shall,' I say  
But do not stop  
And soon the bricks  
Are near the top

Among the bones  
Of all my kin  
Fortunato  
Does pay for sin

His jester bells  
Make no more sound  
Perhaps he dreams  
Of being found

If you think, too,  
To rescue him  
Chances of that  
Are rather slim

I only now   
Confirm your fears  
The deed's been done  
For fifty years!


End file.
